“Now, I’m of the opinion they glimpse that little flag in your buttonhole,” ventured Jack, quickly. “It tells them who and what we are. While the United States is trying hard to be neutral in this big war, and treat both sides alike, still, as Germany can’t get any war supplies and the Allies do, on account of their controlling the Seven Seas, these British must look on us as near-allies. Besides, if they ever read the papers printed on our side of the water they’d know that the biggest part of the American nation believes in their cause, and prays that in the end militarism will be knocked out, with a new Germany to rise on the ruins of the old.”
That might sound like pretty strong talk coming from a boy; but then Jack was wise beyond his years. Besides, he had looked upon strange sights since coming abroad. Education develops rapidly under such conditions.
“I should say Headquarters might lie over in that direction, Jack?” suggested Amos, pointing as he spoke. “I notice that in most cases the troops come from that way, which would tell the story, you know.”
“Good idea, Amos, and one that does your Boy Scout training credit. According to my mind it’s just as you say, and we’ll see if we can get an interview with the general commanding this district. He must be a mighty busy man, and only for that magical letter of introduction we’re carrying around with us I’m afraid our chances of seeing him and getting a little confab would be next to nothing. But when he looks on that signature K. of K. there’s little he can refuse us.”
“Yes,” added Amos, grinning happily, “that was a master stroke on your part, asking dad to give us a letter to his old friend and comrade, General Kitchener, after you learned how close they had once been in South Africa or Egypt long ago. When I see their eyebrows go up, and that look come on their faces, it makes me think of a talisman such as they used of old. I can imagine Ali Baba saying the magical words ‘open sesame’ before the rock wall that always swung open to the signal. We’ve got the same wonderful magnet in our well-worn letter signed by the Minister of War over in London.”
Moving steadily along they quickly found themselves getting among crowds of civilians and soldiers who filled the streets of the little old Belgian town, now a ruined place.
“What are they all staring up at, I wonder?” remarked Amos. “It must be some of those rash pilots driving German Taubes are circling around again, trying to locate hidden batteries of the Allies. Oh! Jack, look there, that’s a Zeppelin I do believe.”
Jack had already decided this for himself. Away up among the fleecy clouds of the early morning they could see what looked like a bulky cigar-shaped object that was speeding along its course. It was too high for any anti-air craft gun to hope to reach it. Possibly Allied birdmen would presently be sent aloft to try and engage the enemy, or failing that chase him off.
All at once there arose a shout that was taken up by a thousand excited voices. The entire crowd started to sway and break. Men dashed for any sort of shelter that came most convenient. Others threw themselves flat upon their faces, believing in their sudden panic they would be in far less danger if they hugged the ground closely.
Jack had himself detected some object falling from aloft. It might have been a cast-off sandbag, but in these perilous war times one must expect something more destructive than this. He too would have followed the example of those close by and dropped flat, only that he saw the falling object was bound to miss the spot where he and his chum stood by a big margin. In fact, it would drop outside the town, as the hostile airship was at too high an altitude for the marksman to aim with any reasonable certainty of success.